Silvan: The Dark Knightess
by Gruto
Summary: Gruto-AU-ness. This one has parallels to two of my favorite movies of all times  aside from the Lord of the Rings trilogy . Mostly Teresa-centric, and as it says above: AU. Read on. It might just...put a smile on your face.
1. I'm Not A Hero

**A/N: I'm Batman! And I don't own Claymore...but I'm Batman!**

_Why hadn't she been aware? What had caused her to let her guard down the way she did? She was _Teresa of the Faint Smile! _It was blaring-clear that she had become soft, due to her feelings for Clare. What did she care, though? Clare was all that mattered to her. That little girl had changed her life! And how had she repaid Clare's efforts to show Teresa that even Claymores could love? She had committed the ultimate sin by abandoning her. Worse off, to the clutches of the Organization! _

She pounded the ground angrily as those thoughts trickled their way in. Continually, she berated herself, beating herself down for her perceived crimes. She had loved, loved young Clare as a mother would her daughter, and yet at the last, she had had the gall to forget her! How vain! Now the Organization had Clare in their grasp, and who knew what was in store for her then. _So weak, _the embittered Teresa seethed within, hating herself. _So soft, so damn FRAGILE! _Pounding the ground once more, a grimace of fury on her face, Teresa stood fast, grasped her sword, and downed the tree she had been sitting against. No use. Even as it crashed to the ground, Teresa's rage and torment yet remained unchecked.

_Think, Teresa. Think clearly! _She plunged her claymore into the soil. Eyes shut, she forced her mind to clear. Clare was a little girl, yes, but when she had a goal, would do her utmost to accomplish it. The girl would stop at nothing short of death itself (and even then, Teresa betimes found herself questioning Clare's mortality). So intense and deep were her thoughts that she lost all awareness of the things around her for a moment. Not even the footfalls of another disturbed her thoughts in that moment. It was not until she quite literally jumped at the soft-spoken voice that she realized that she was not alone. Whirling, she pinpointed the source of the voice, directly behind her: a man dressed all in black, capped with a black brim hat, black sun shades over his eyes. His smug grin was annoying.

Asked Teresa, glaring, "You're with the Organization, aren't you? What will stop me from gutting you?"

His grin grew the wider. "The knowledge, perhaps, that your young charge is alive an well?"

She didn't seem fully convinced, but her tense shoulders relaxed. "What aren't you telling me?"

"That because of the odd nature of your desertion, we took a different route with her."

Her gaze betrayed nothing, remained steady. "Go on."

Said the handler, "I risk everything in telling you this, but you _must _hear me out. Young Clare, unlike the majority of our warriors, was not recruited. No, after your speedy flight, we approached her with the question of remaining a human or becoming a hybrid - strong enough to fight for and protect you."

Teresa's eyes widened. "But that's..."

"I know you may be thinking that by doing so, we would have an inroad to you, but again, hear me out. You are not the only one who harbors negative feelings about the Organization. Your young Clare opted to become a hybrid. Here, though, I lay before you the catch: after a certain time, she will most certainly be set loose, I having by then pulled the right strings. Furthermore, you will need to-"

"You lie," she muttered.

"Not so," he countered. "Here is her insignia," that said as he presented a replica thereof. "As I was saying, you will need to leave the name of 'Teresa of the Faint Smile' behind you. It is no longer safe in these lands. I would suggest, instead of a name, a title. And a bit of theatrics to hide yourself. What these lands need is a hero." Replacing the drawing and pressing his fingertips together at his chin, he continued. "And you, Teresa, can give it to them. All these people know is fear, even of those who liberate them from their predators. You, however, can shine out like a beacon of flame amidst the darkness that has been ravaging this country for far too long."

She crossed her arms, saying, "I'm not a hero."

His grin widened. "So you would now think, but as you think on it more, you'll realize that the more you leave behind your past, or rather, the more you relieve yourself of unwanted inner burdens, you'll find that caring for others, just as caring for your young girl, is easy to fall into."

"Will I ever see her again?" came the vulnerable inquiry.

"I'm certain of it. For now, though, patience. Remember what I said, and farewell." With that, he disappeared into the woods again, leaving little trace of hi presence. Teresa thought long and hard about his words. It was no light charge he had given her. She would have to throw away her old identity as Teresa and assume another. That meant a different name. How she was not good at this sort of thing. Mulling it over, she tried to figure out with what characteristic(s) she could work with that were specific to her as a hybrid. Claymore. Whatever! Obviously, the Faint Smile bit was now nothing more than a giveaway. Perhaps something to do with her eyes...they were silver, but morphed gold when hell broke loose... That was it! Her title would be _Silvan. _Simple as that. _Silvan _had two personalities, due to madness triggered by certain things. Those personalities would be evidenced in the color of her eyes-when silver, all was well and normal. When gold, one should hope to have been on her good side. Why she was getting any enjoyment out of the whims of a handler of the Organization at all was beyond her, but Teresa didn't care at this point. It invoked in her being feelings of purpose and being that her time in the Organization hadn't. At that moment, another thought occurred to her. The rebellious handler had spoken of using her power to liberate humanity from _yoma... _Why not spare all the human race grief and stamp out the Organization's workings as well? The token Smile crossed Teresa's face. _Silvan _would arise. The only thing, then, was to find appropriate garb. The junky Organization outfit wouldn't cut it.

Later that day, she sneaked into the nearest town. Having found the local armory, she pawned her Organization metals off, using the extra amount of _beras _gained to stock up for later purchases. Making her way to the tailor shop, she spoke to the owner in hushed tones.

"If I were to hide my identity, intending to stay that way, as well as travel from place like a nomad, what garb would you suggest?"

"Well..er..what price range are you looking for, miss?" questioned he.

"Up to 200 _beras, _and no more," came her frank response.

His eyes bulged slightly. "Gods, wow! Alright, let me think. Are you talking about being covert? In my time serving with the militia, we did plenty of covert ops. It should be easy for an attractive young lady like yourself to pull some heavy strings, heh heh, but anyway, I won't bore you anymore." He began rummaging through racks of clothing. A soldier to a tailor? Odd mix. When he found what he needed, he called for his wife, and they began working furiously. Teresa excused herself at their permission and waited outside, her claymore never more than a few feet away at any given time.

Two hours had passed when the tailor announced the project's completion. Handing her the garment, his wife pointed her to one of the dressing chambers while he began cleaning up. A little curious to see the garment herself, Teresa dressed, and upon exiting the chamber admired the outfit in the mirror. These two sure knew what their business was about. The clothing was form-fitting, but comfortably so. Her shoulders were bare all down to just above her upper arms, those and the rest being covered with tight sleeves. Her hands were also bare.

"We'll give you a discount, miss, so your total will only be 100 _beras_-worth,"the tailor declared happily upon seeing Teresa's satisfaction.

He was surprised when she shook her head. "What's the full price?"

"Uh...well, it's 200..." At that, Teresa took her entire satchel and dumped the contents before him. His wife gasped. "Oh dear! That will pay for next year's debt as well!" He said nothing at first, looking at the pile of _beras _bars. Then glancing up at Teresa, he muttered, "Th-thank you."

"It's the least I can do. For now," she replied, making er way out.

"Your name miss?" he managed to blurt before she had overtaken the door. Glancing over her shoulder, she breathed a sigh and bade farewell to her old name and person. _"Silvan. _Call me _Silvan, _and don't forget it."

"Oh, I won't, Miss _Silvan. _Not in a million years. If there's anything you need, just come knocking." His smile was bright.

"I'll hold you to that. In fact there is one thing..."

She remained in town the next day near the money trade for her next (and possibly last) payment from the Organization. Sure enough it came. Pocketing the stuff immediately, she returned to the armory. She requested special armor be made for her. After measurements were taken, he began work, forging the armor out of a rare metal-one that could withstand fast, heavy blows, at the same time allowing for optimum mobility. This armor would cover the shoulders, arms, chest, back, and legs. Not a _full _suit of armor, per se, but rather just enough of each portion to allow best movement. She had not requested a helm.

After a time went by, the blacksmith announced that he was done, and asked if there was a specific color she wanted this suit. The Faint Smile drew her lips up slightly. "Black as all black can get." Obliging, he continued his work, she observing.

"Hey, uh, ma'am? Are you...ahh...a Claymore?" inquired he tentatively.

"What makes you think that I am?" she countered.

"Ah...well, your eyes...they're silver...but who'm I to make assumptions like that, eh?" He laughed nervously.

"You're correct in your assumption," said she, shutting her eyes, leaning back against the far wall. "But what does that matter?"

"Ah...well, you're not..killing _yoma?" _He was clearly confused. And nervous.

"The primary duty of a warrior of the Organization is to, yes, kill _yoma. _Following the successful kill-if that-the warrior's handler, or overseer from the Organization, then collects the required fee." She opened her eyes and looked squarely into his, sending chills down his spine. "I'm going to put a stop to that-the unfair exacting of outstanding wages from poor towns and villages to continue to fund their grotesque experiments on mankind! But I can't look like one of them."

The blacksmith shook his head. It was all too much. "Well," he said, placing the finishing touches, "if it's truly a good cause, then I'll give this to you. That armor you gave me earlier was Organization armor, yes?"

Teresa's surprise did not hide itself. "Y-yes."

"The worth of that metal is worth more than all the gold on this continent. It's only fair that I accept _that _as your payment. But your custom suit is done, fitted, even, with a latch for your claymore. Hope it serves you well in your endeavor, Miss..uhh...?"

_"Silvan. _My name is _Silvan." _She began to clasp on those portions of the armor that he handed to her, lending a hand where she needed it. He had decorated the suit, even, with a full cloth cape, behind which was the latch. Teresa, just like before, slid the claymore into place. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful. Terrible. Menacing. Imposing," he replied admiring the way the suit flowed with her natural curves.

"Good enough for me," said she, then, "Thank you." Turning on one heel, she marched out the doorway, into the setting sun (as waiting for the armor, as a whole, had taken almost the whole day). Now time and cover were her best friends. But deep within, she desired only to see Clare again...

**A/P: I'm sure that there might be **_**some**_** clues as to what I might be doing with this. Like it. Like it not. This is definitely AU, and definitely a fanfic. Did**** I might mention I'm a big fun of the Chris Nolan Batman series so far, **_**especially **_**the MUSIC (Hans Zimmer & James Newton-Howard). So, as I wrote this chapter, I was listening to "I'm Not A Hero" off The Dark Knight OST. :) No action yet, but it'll come soon enough. Had to introduce the fanfic's namesake, first.**


	2. You Are the Stronger

**A/N: Recommended music track(s) to supplement the reading of this chapter: "Eptesicus" from the **_**Batman Begins OST, **_**and "Myotis" from the same album.**

Teresa's travels over the coming weeks took her north. She marched tirelessly and windless as the weather grew colder and colder. It affected her nothing. Nothing affected her. She was the ultimate of ultimate warriors. The Number One of the Organization, there had been few to dare stand up to her, and those that did met their fate. Most of them anyway. She hiked onward, the season growing colder. As she did, her thoughts were brought to Clare...little Clare. She missed the girl much, and could only imagine the filth the Organization was spewing into her ears. The thought nearly made her cringe.

Coming upon another town – no, a city – likely the last before the northern wastes, she decided to take rest. There, she, like in nearly all the previous towns, drew stares. It was as if she was some goddess out of fairytale. She knew better, though, but for the monster that was within her. So that people would not likely recognize her proud voice, she softened and lowered it. She made it a point that whenever others of her kind showed their faces, she would take to the rooftops, or take the back way out of town. This was not an easy lifestyle, she was finding, despite all her extensive training in the Organization with covert ops. It was on this particular day that she was obliged to make employment of those skills.

The entire city of Pieta emptied to the south entrance to witness the group of Claymores making their way in. In the meantime, Teresa made her way north toward the mountains. She would not be seen in the same place with any of her kin just yet. She needed more...more. At a brisk pace, she marched out of Pieta and into the mountain pass, where beyond lay the range itself, then wastelands far as the eye could see. It was to this mountain range she went, having felt a prompt-like feeling to go there several days earlier.

Having made it out of the city, she traversed the mountain pass. Therein, a blizzard took up its howling, and her eyes stung. She was not deterred. Onward she tread as the mountain peaks grew higher and the wind colder, though she felt little of it. She was a hybrid warrior, a Claymore. Claymores knew no discomfort, only what pain was inflicted by their foes. That in mind, her resolve solidified. She had once declared her purpose for living, which had been for a young, full-blooded human girl. More and more, that declaration was beginning to spread outward to the human race as a whole. It was a strange feeling: she felt, more and more, that it was becoming her duty to protect humankind. She had the strength, after all, or so she supposed.

It was in those musings that she was caught off guard-a thing that rarely occurred-by a band of _yoma. _Barely avoiding a powerful swipe, she ducked and twirled out of reach, drawing her sword all in one fluid motion. In total, there were eight _yoma, _all of the larger, meaner breed. The surroundings could prove to be both advantagous and detrimental at the same time. She would need to maintain light footing while moving fast. These creatures' _yoki _signatures were rather high, an attestation to the advanced nature of their beings. Because of that, however, they would prove no match for the former First Rank. She brandished her claymore before her, both hands gripping the handle.

The first of eight brought its hand to bear, and the fingers thereon shot forth. The second and third followed suit as they flanked her, the first charging her head-on. She released one hand from her weapon and seized the appendages of the first. Yanking back, she used the force to execute a front flip directly over that one's head, out of range of the projectiles of the other two. The first stood frozen for a moment, then fell apart into two clean halves, one to each side. Purple blood spouted outward in a fountain. She faced three more, two flanking her, and the two that had followed the leader bringing up the rear. She was surrounded. The token Smile adorned her face.

"It's not that simple. Your strategies have always proven to be mediocre at best, but if you think you can best me with numbers, then have at it," she taunted. The _yoma _were incensed, and all closed the circle at once. Teresa assumed a fighting stance, and her following actions did not disappoint in proving her superior prowess. In one fell stroke, she sliced the three _yoma _directly in front of her in half at the midsection, their blood and innards riddling the snow-covered ground. The remaining four released razor sharp appendages at her successively. She dodged those acrobatically, but at the conclusion of her run, slipped on a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow. Barely recovering from that in time, she leaped out of the way of several more projectiles. Two of the four _yoma's _heads fell useless to the snow, rolling a bit, she standing directly behind them, seeming to have appeared there out of nowhere, so speedy were her movements. Whirling, she removed half the head of the second to last, and turned only to see the final running for dear life. It too slipped on a rather large patch of ice and fell forward...onto the blade of Teresa's claymore, after which she sliced upward mightily, halving the beast from that point. All lay dead in their own blood, but to be absolutely certain, Teresa made count, and, satisfied, flicked the excess blood from her sword, replacing it thereafter. Thus, her trek through the pass continued. The rabble could rot or freeze for all she cared.

After several more hours of hiking, treading carefully through the snow-covered ice, she began to discern the faint signatures of a massive _yoki _aura. Believing that to be her destination, her step renewed. Still, caution was of utmost importance; there was no sense in throwing her life away over the superstition of some wise sage that dwelt in the north, as she had been told of on her way to Pieta. What she hadn't been told-or rather what was left out-was that this "sage" was also a monster of almost godly proportions. To that very being she was headed, like a lamb to the slaughter.

Nearing the aura-it becoming more and more imposing as she drew closer-Teresa spotted a dwelling that she supposed belonged to this being, likely an Awakened being. Lengthening her stride, she marched right up to the door. That titanic _yoki _was so vast now that it was almost unbearable, even crushing, to a point. But Teresa yet remained undaunted. She could very well take this being in a brawl if needed, but that was not her intent. Staring at the steel door, she lifted a hand and knocked three times, distinct, deliberate. Several moments passed until finally, she heard the heavy latch from the inside release, and the door creak open. Before her stood a man: light-colored hair, fair skin, handsome, almost beautiful features. And silver eyes. The scowl on that fair face was blatantly indicative of his displeasure at being disturbed.

Sizing her up, he spoke, a voice that commanded authority and attention. Not much different from her own. "What is a warrior from the Organization doing so far away from her assigned area of duty? You've some nerve, woman, to come trespassing into my domain, unbidden. Before I decide whether to kill you or take advantage of you, state your name and rank. Speak quickly!"

Teresa, though somewhat surprised, was otherwise undaunted. "I am Teresa, formerly Rank One in the Organization. I don't fear you or your threats; I can easily humble that pride of yours."

"Tch! You are no less arrogant. Very well, if you are not sent here by the Organization, I assume you have come of your own purposes. State them." His impatience grated on her somewhat.

"I was told in my travels that a being possessing great wisdom dwelt in the north. I would assume you are that being?"

A wry grin crossed his face. "Ah, I see. So you've come for information, for knowledge. Well, you come to the wrong place and being. I cannot and will not willingly share what I have gained with just _anyone. Especially _not with a damned Claymore. Now unless you can prove that you are not the typical rabble-which I _highly _doubt-then get out of my sight and never return, or so help me gods, your blood will stain the snow."

"Prove I'm not-now see here! If you had a mind for it, you would _plainly _see that I don't affiliate with the Organization, and band of murderers who take no consideration for human life!" She crossed her arms.

"You're bluffing," he countered.

"Am I? Prove it then," she challenged. "And if all you can conjure are threats and useless insults, then it will further attest to the weak nature that yur kind possess."

His fists balled. "How do I know you're no different?" When she said nothing, only knifing him with that piercing gaze, he seemed to calm, though his frustration was unhidden. "Have it your way. You want me to prove to you the honor your lot lacks? Fine. First off, all you know is that we are gut-feeding, power-hungry warmongerers. Though we may vie for power amongst ourselves, what you don't realize is that many of us desire basic things in life, and have long given up feeding on humans for that reason. One of the desires I myself have is to raise and provide for a family, a thing long bereft of me due to the efforts of the Organization t annihilate me. I wager you hadn't thought of that before, have you?"

"No, I haven't," she responded.

"Yet a further testament to your ignorance. I am both disgusted and amazed by the things you are lead to believe. It sickens me to know that I was once no different." His scowl never left.

"So..Awakening has brought new light? Giving in to the sensation of pleasure that _yoki _influx has suddenly raised you to a new level of enlightenment?" she questioned. Obviously it had an effect on him, as his fists clenched once more.

"Woman, you know nothing of it. By saying that, you have marked me as nothing more than a whoremongerer. So very typical of your lot. No, I did not gain wisdom by Awakening. I gained it from experiencing _life. _One doesn't need to go to such great lengths as I did to free themselves from the bonds of enthrallment, but this much I can say regarding the matter: an open mind, thinking outside the normal realm of thought, will bring further light and knowledge. No other way will do. Thus, for the most part, you Claymores, who are essentially brainwashed into thinking on one track only, are _highly _naive and ignorant. Is that proof enough for you?" He glared daggers at her.

A few moments passed. "Ignorant you say," Teresa reiterated. "You mentioned you desired a family." Her silver eyes met his, and intensified. "I tell you now that whatever has been holding you back, be it other Awakened beings, the Organization, or your own hesitation, is proof enough for me that you possess some weakness or ther that causes you to delay fulfilling that desire." His glare softened, features taking on a mix of emotions all at once: guilt, shock, shame. Seeing as she caught him in a snare, she continued, saying, "I did not delay, though only initially because I allowed my pride to surface. A young girl was the plaything of a _yoma, _which I, out of duty, slew. She, in an audacious display of stubborn determination, followed me for what I thought was the intent to thank me. But not so. She saw in me pain-sorrow-that I myself refused to see. Thinking to give her a normal life, I intended to leave her in one of the towns assigned to me. When a horde of bandits raided the place, I rushed back and rescued her at the expense of the lives of those bandits. The Organization set out to execute me, but I would have none of it. Clare needed me, needed a mother-figure, and I swore I would live for her. I had a purpose, a cause greater than serving the Organization, and ridding the land of _yoma. _For the first time in years, I felt human again."

He was silent, staring into those silver eyes. "And..she's not here with you; did the Organization take her?"

Teresa nodded. "I don't know what will become of her, but I vow that I will meet her again, and we _will _escape from the clutches of the Organization."

He was silent a moment. "Well. It seems you have done what could not. Consider yourself the first; I suppose it's fair to say that you are one of a kind." Another pause, then, "What knowledge do you desire of me?"

"The _art _of war fighting differs greatly from the _skill _in war fighting," he said, having invited Teresa in, and according t her request, had begun training her. For three hours had they been at it already, she learning, he teaching. At this point, it was mostly intellectual and psychological training, designed to discipline her mind to a new level of thinking in regards to fighting. He continued in his lecture, saying, "To be a _true _warrior, one of the highest caliber, you must first know your enemy. I'm sure your aware of that, but learn of them more than just strengths and weaknesses; learn what drives them, what they love, what they hate...what they fear." He paused, then, "Fear is a powerful tool in the hands of a warrior. Mastering the art of controlling one's fears, even to the point of _becoming _what one fears, and projecting that upon one's foes-that's where war fighting, Teresa, becomes an art."

"How is it done?" she inquired.

A grin came to her instructor's face. "First, search yourself, your core, your very being, and discover your deepest fear. Once you've accomplished that, _become _that fear, or in other words, _embody _it. Theatrics can be a large factor in contributing to that. I can see you've already employed some of that already, giving yourself an alternate persona...perhaps a little too literal, but it's a start. Take it to the next level now."

Teresa spent the next few hours contemplating and pondering what she feared most. Already, despite all her confidence and pride, she discovered several fears: death, loss of mind and humanity, imprisonment, fear itself. However, at her very core, dating back to her childhood before being recruited into the Organization, the most deeply rooted fear she possessed was simply: darkness. No light, no sight, oppressive, filled with all manner of unknown, unseen horrors; frightening sounds or no sound at all, which drove one mad. She would embody darkness, and decided that moment to entitle herself The Dark Knightess. Upon relaying the information to her mentor, he gave her a pleased pat on the shoulder.

"Now, let us test out how well this 'Dark Knightess' fares in combat, shall we?" he prompted. She rose, replacing her claymore at her back. The other disappeared into what looked like a storage room. He shortly emerged with a claymore of his own. "It's high-time I brought this out again. It has been too long since I last wielded my old sword," said he, making his way out the front door. Teresa was not far behind.

An hour had gone by, and the two had been fighting the duration thereof. Because his _yoki _was so massive and blatantly open, Teresa was able to read it easily enough, keeping right up. But there was something in the way he moved, a fluidity, an art, that always seemed to put him one half-step ahead of her. She saw that, he sensed her comprehension, and prompted her to follow the art. "Your ability to sense _yoki _is keen, Teresa, but you can't always rely solely on that ability alone. To achieve the _art _of combat, you must _become _the weapon as a whole, not just use your sword as an extension. Think of yourself _as _the claymore. You achieve that, and you will have gone from mere Claymore to true, authentic warrior."

She came at him once more, blow followed by blow, but again, he was slightly the quicker, a cause of frustration. They continued in such a manner until he caught her sword by the cross guard, not allowing it to budge. He stepped in close. "Clare was it? And why, exactly, is she not with you? Did the Organization get to her, or was it something else?" Shock etched itself on Teresa's face. "Did you abandon her? If so, then what meaning had all that rhetoric?" Incensed, she renewed her attack. He defended against it easily, then in one fell motion, he seized her wrist. Twisting it in such a way that caused her to flip over, he had her on her back. Still gripping, holding her in painful place, he said, "You abandoned her, didn't you?"

A grimace on her face, she seethed, "I had no other choice. If I attempted to rescue her, they would've killed her."

"Then _she _is the weak one, otherwise she would have followed you," came his retort.

"She was outclassed, had nothing!"

"What does that have to do with anything?" he demanded.

"I have the superior power! Guh!" She writhed against the joint lock.

_"Power amounts to nothing if it is idly set aside! It didn't save her!" _He released her wrist. In a tirade of attacks, she rocked him back on his heels, but his superior experience once again proved to his advantage. He nearly made her slip and fall, but she regained her footing quickly enough. "Mind your surroundings," he cautioned. They circled each other as several moments passed. Teresa concentrated. He obviously didn't have the same ability to sense _yoki _as acutely as she, but the way he employed his art into the fight-it was taxing. But why? Why did he do it, she suddenly asked herself. What was he so afraid of that he couldn't rely on that monstrous _yoki _of his? Perhaps he was just holding back for her sake, but that couldn't be the case. He was afraid, but of what? If she were afraid to use _yoki _energy in the face of one who could read it keenly to their advantage, and neither were out to kill each other, the fear would likely be of losing. Latching on to that, she assumed the persona of _Silvan, _and launched an assault that he did not expect. Knocking him over onto his back, even, she directed the point of her claymore at his neck.

_"Yield," _she commanded.

Breathing heavily, the two of them, an end seemed nigh. Her trainer, however, was not finished. "Well done, but you haven't beaten me. You sacrificed your footing for the killing blow." With that, he slapped his claymore blade into the ice where she stood, revealing the subzero water underneath. Teresa fell right in and lost her breath for several moments for the cold.

Normally hybrids were rather immune to temperature changes, but that water had been too much. Teresa sat in front of the fireplace, shivering all over. Her mentor sat next to her. "Your anger gives you power, but be cautious. It could be your undoing should you let it out of hand." Noting her silence, he continued. "I'm certain your young friend understood, but still, you are the stronger." His eyes became distant, memories from deep within surfacing. "I once had a wife... She was exquisitely beautiful; looked a lot like you." A pause, then, "She was killed by wicked men. Then the Organization took me. I have always been plagued with a pang of sorrow."

"How do you deal with it?" she inquired.

"Vengeance," he said simply. "To proclaim and carry out justice upon my enemies is my quest."

"That's not for me," she said. "I don't need vengeance to have a purpose."

"Of course. You have your young friend's well-being in mind, and that is your purpose." His eyes remained distant.

"What happens when the training is complete?" she asked.

He scoffed. "There _is _no completion. It never ends, not until you pass on."

The following day saw the same routine, but this time Teresa carried the winning hand. He attempted his fluid dance, but she matched and even out maneuvered him. Each an every step he took became patterned and predictable. She took note of that pattern, which before she had not noticed. Also, she noticed that his strikes were becoming desperate. He was fearing loss. Was he also afraid she would attempt to kill him? That question became more and more apparent as his actions suggested, more and more, fight-or-flight, a common trait of _yoma. _She needed to stop the combat soon. Stopping his claymore fast, sliding hers all the way to the cross guard as he had done the day previous, she, breathing heavily, said, "I don't intend to kill you. It was never my intent to begin with. What I will say is that I have discovered your fear, and in exploiting it, gained the upper hand." They parted from their deadlock, and she replaced her sword.

"Well," said he, defeated at last, "it seems you've cleared one hurdle. You've several more to go, Lady Teresa, but I've taught you all I know." He plunged his blade into the snow-covered ice. His demeanor spoke sorrow. "Would that you could stay longer, but I didn't bind you to any oath. You are free to go."

Teresa instantly pitied the Awakened being. "Your name...what is it?"

A mournful grin crossed his face. "Isley, my lady. I was once a rank comparable to your own, if you must know."

"I'm certain you'll have what you desire, Isley. Your patience will pay off in the end," she reassured.

He surprised her then. Walking right up to her, his gaze never left hers. Reaching out a cold hand, he stroked her fair cheek. Against all her misconceptions, his touch was gentle, an attestation to his deepest yearning. Her heart went out to him then. "You look and sound every bit like Elenna did... If only..." He let his hand drop, and turned him about, walking slowly toward his dwelling. He seized his weapon along the way. Glancing over his shoulder once before entering the place, he spoke, saying, "Should ever I see you again, I will not attempt to do you harm. Farewell." With that, he went inside, never to reveal himself until later.

"Farewell..." she whispered. Then, turning on one heel, she left Isley, the Silver-Eyed King, behind. She felt truly ready to take on the responsibility bestowed upon her by that handler. She needed to determine, then, who her enemies were, and how she would deal with them, whether she eliminate them or not, among other things. One thing, though, was for certain: she didn't believe Isley's claim that Clare was weak. That was untrue; he knew nothing about the girl. She _was _strong, in her own right, and now that the Organization had her, she would be the stronger. Teresa continued, back through the pass, until she reached Pieta once more. It was silent. Too silent. Entering, she took immediately to the rooftops, surveying the areas she passed. Upon reaching a certain building, she sensed three _yoki, _plus that of a _yoma. _A rather large one at that. She then made her decision: her enemies were _yoma _and the Organization, but not its warriors (unless they truly meant ill). They knew hardly any better, as had she, so naming them, specifically, as her foes was wrong. Thus she felt the need to assist those who were combating the _yoma, _they being lower-ranking warriors, judging by the small amount of _yoki _they exhibited. She could sense much distress from them, a sure sign that they did not have the upper hand. Intervention would likely save their lives, so she decided. She waited for the most opportune moment, for the _yoma _to position itself directly above her. She was surprised that none of them had sensed her presence; of course, she was suppressing her own _yoki, _making that endeavor very difficult. Still, if the five that had originally been sent to execute her could sense it, despite her efforts to suppress it, why couldn't these?

Perhaps her skills in that regard had improved for the duration of time she had trained with Isley. To think that only two days had passed, and she had accomplished as much as she had. A further attestation to who and what she was. Thus assuming that her _yoki_ was suppressed to the point of nothingness, Teresa readied herself for her offensive against the unsuspecting _yoma _below. By that time, it had moved directly where she wanted it to be, and was ripe for destruction. Leaping up, she brought her claymore to bear against the roof of the building, delighted when the structure gave way to the force thereof. It was plain as she descended that the _yoma_ indeed had the upper hand. It held in its grasp the neck of one of the other warriors, who was struggling for breath and freedom, but to no avail. The beastly creature looked up just in time to see feral silver eyes before its arm was removed, and the other Claymore fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The other two looked on in awe at this black-armored, silver-eyed, blond-haired warrior that wielded a claymore very much like their own. They, however, did not know what to make of it: though she held the vague appearance of one of them, they could sense little traces—if none—from her at all. That was a cause of much confusion among them. In the meanwhile, the _yoma _bellowed in agony at the severed limb.

"**How? Where did you come from, and how is it that I couldn't sense you?" **The beast was both shocked and in pain. Teresa stood stock still. Though the _yoma _towered over her, she was the greater cause of fear and wonder. Her claymore dripped of the purple lifeblood, as did the stump of the _yoma's _arm. Its pain and shock soon turned to rage bred of humiliation, and it charged Teresa, not fully comprehending what it was getting itself into. **"GRAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" **It lunged at her, bring its mighty arm to bear, but growled in frustration when its target simply wasn't where she was supposed to be. It glanced over its shoulder, only to have a claymore blade jabbed through its head halfway up. A mighty slash to the right finished the job of removing the top of the _yoma's _skull. Its blood spouted everywhere from the wound, and the lifeless body slammed heavily to the floor. Teresa flicked the excess off of her blade, replacing it in the latch shortly thereafter. She glanced at the three Organization warriors, sizing them up. The apparent leader of the group stepped forward boldly and spoke. "I don't know who you are or where you're from, but you fight like one of us. Were you ever, at any point, affiliated with the Organization?"

Teresa remained silent. Taking on, once again, the persona of _Silvan, _she, in her lower-pitched voice, responded, saying, "I am _Silvan, _the Dark Knightess. I affiliate with no one, I side with no one. The injustices of the Organization must be eliminated, and because no one else will step up, I have chosen to do so. It doesn't matter where I'm from or even who I am; it's what I do that defines me." The other remained silent, apparently not knowing how to respond to that. Teresa wasted no time, then: with a mighty leap, she once again took to the rooftops, bounding from one to the other until she reached the south entrance. There, she exited, covering her tracks by melding completely with those people that were leaving, wagons and carts their modes of transportation and carriage. Thus, the very dim light of the northern lands provided her plenty of cover, the darkness that she now employed to her advantage. It would continually become a symbol of her reputation as the Dark Knightess.

"Yes sir, she was garbed in a full suit of black armor. She wielded a claymore not too much different from our own. Her eyes were silver, as far as I can remember, and her hair indeed platinum-blond. We were able to sense very little traces—if any at all—of _yoki _energy emitting from her, which means that she was either suppressing it skillfully, or is another type of being altogether. Of this much, though, I am certain: she fought and wielded her claymore like one of us, yet...there was a fluidity in her motions; almost an _art_ that gave her a sore upper hand against the _yoma. _She was agile in a way that none of us have ever witnessed before. What's more: she spoke of eliminating what she believed to be the injustices of this Organization," explained Brianna, the one who had been leading the other three Claymores in Pieta when they were ambushed by the powerful _yoma. _Having returned to the Organization headquarters to give a report, she had been speaking for her team. The elders were gathered before her, contemplating her words. He who stood foremost then spoke.

"So. It is undetermined whether or not this _'Silvan' _is a former warrior, and yet she fights, for the most part, like one? This is intriguing. And dangerous. Should you spot her again, do not hesitate to harm or even kill her. All warriors must be notified of this issue immediately, with orders to warn the inhabitants of the areas assigned to them of this 'Dark Knightess.' You are dismissed." He and his fellows all seemed on edge—nervous—about this new threat. It would have to be dealt with promptly.

_So, Teresa, you have already made your mark, _Rubel mused, his thoughts his own. _Very good. Here's hoping you'll come through, even through the challenges that await you._

**A/P: Hope my writing technique is good enough (captivating, pulling one in, etc., etc.) to all who have been reading my fics so far. Hope the recommendations for background music are also satisfactory, and that they add to the experience. I'll be doing that from here on out.**


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